And I forgot the clouded Forth,

The gloom that saddens heaven and earth,
The bitter east, the misty summer
And grey metropolis of the North.

Perchance to lull the throbs of pain,
Perchance to charm a vacant brain,
Perchance to dream you still beside me,
My fancy fled to the South again.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

ITALY

OUR Italy's

The darling of the earth, the treasury, piled
With reveries of gentle ladies, flung

Aside, like ravelled silk, from life's worn stuff,-
With coins of scholars' fancy, which, being

rung

On workday counter, still sound silver-proof,-
In short, with all the dreams of dreamers young,
Before their heads have time for slipping off

Hope's pillow to the ground. How oft, indeed, We all have sent our souls out from the north,

On bare white feet which would not print nor bleed,

To climb the Alpine passes and look forth,

Where the low murmuring Lombard rivers lead

Their bee-like way to gardens almost worth
The sight which thou and I see afterward
From Tuscan Bellosguardo, wide awake,
When standing on the actual, blessed sward
Where Galileo stood at nights to take

The vision of the stars, we find it hard,
Gazing upon the earth and heaven, to make
A choice of beauty.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

TO ITALY

Stanzas from the "Italian Rhapsody."

ABSENCE from thee is such as men endure

Between the glad betrothal and the bride; Or like the years that Youth, intense and sure, From his ambition to his goal must bide. And if no more I may

Oh, then were Memory meant for those to whom is Hope denied.

Show me a lover who hath drunk by night
Thy beauty-potion, as the grape the dew:
'T were little wonder he were poet too,
With wine of song in unexpected might,

While moonlit cloister calls

With plashy fountain-falls,

Or darkened Arno moves to music with its mirrored light.

Who can withstand thee? What distress or care But yields to Naples, or that long day-dream We know as Venice, where alone more fair

Noon is than night; where every lapping stream Woos with a soft caress

Our new-world weariness,

And every ripple smiles with joy at sight of scene

so rare.

The mystery of thy charm-ah, who hath guessed?

"T were ne'er divined by day or shown in sleep; Yet sometimes Music, floating from her steep, Holds to our lips a chalice brimmed and blest: Then know we that thou art

Of the Ideal part—

Of Man's one thirst that is not quenched, drink he howe'er so deep.

Thou human-hearted land, whose revels hold
Man in communion with the antique days,
And summon him from prosy greed to ways
Where Youth is beckoning to the Age of Gold:

How thou dost hold him near

And whisper in his ear

Of the lost Paradise that lies beyond the alluring haze!

In tears I tossed my coin from Trevi's edge,-
A coin unsordid as a bond of love,-
And, with the instinct of the homing dove,
I gave to Rome my rendezvous and pledge.
And when imperious Death

Has quenched my flame of breath,

Oh, let me join the faithful shades that throng that fount above.

ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON.

ITALIA

ITALIA! thou art fallen, though with sheen
Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride
From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!
Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen
Because rich gold in every town is seen,

And on thy sapphire lake in tossing pride
Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride
Beneath one flag of red and white and green.

O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!

Look southward where Rome's desecrated town
Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!
Look heavenward! shall God allow this thing?
Nay; but some flame-girt Raphael shall come
down,

And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain.
OSCAR WILDE.

A SONG OF ITALY

ITALIA! by the passion of the pain

That bent and rent thy chain;

Italia; by the breaking of the bands,

The shaking of the lands;

Beloved, O men's mother, O men's queen,

Arise, appear, be seen!

Arise, array thyself in manifold

Queen's raiment of wrought gold;

With girdles of green freedom, and with red

Roses, and white snow shed

Above the flush and frondage of the hills

That all thy deep dawn fills

That all thy clear night veils and warms with

wings

Spread till the morning sings;

The rose of resurrection, and the bright

Breast lavish of the light,